I don’t know! I myself don’t know! I brought the child up. She was all in all to me; to work for her happiness has been all I have lived for. Then—you came into our house. I grew fond of you—I thought of your happiness too, I—perhaps I ought not to have done that. I thought perhaps just as much of your happiness—and—who knows?—In the end, most of all—of—your happiness!
[During a minute she and William look startled into each other’s eyes.
William.
Mrs Buchner!!!
[Mrs Buchner, hiding her face in her hands, as if in shame, goes off crying through the stairway. William follows her mechanically a few steps, stops, tries to master his inward excitement, then suddenly, shaken with weeping, leans for support against the wall. Ida enters, her face pale, looking serious and careworn, comes with gentle steps to William, embraces him, pressing her cheek to his.
Ida.
Ah, Willy, sad days are coming, and, and, yes, Willy, bright days will come again. You mustn’t give way like that—so hopelessly.
William (stammering passionately).
Ida!—You only! Dearest, sweetest! Only say how I can—how could I bear my life now without you! Your voice, your words, your whole sweet wondrous presence, your hands—your gentle, faithful hands.
Ida.